Shards of Glass
by the-angel-of-words
Summary: A short tale in which a bottle of laudanum brings an angel out of the darkness.


The moon hung low in the night sky, casting diffuse shadows across the darkened streets of Paris. A cloaked figure moved in complete silence along the rooftops, his fedora pulled down to conceal most of his masked face. A small bag of money dangled from his belt, along with a brown length of rope tied in a hangman's noose. The short journey complete, he stooped on the building's edge to peer over the side.

Not far below stood a shifty looking man with tattered clothes and a grizzled beard. His eyes darted around in apprehension. He always hated meeting with the strange masked man; his very presence sent a chill through his blood. But he needed the money, no matter what he felt about certain _customers_.

A dull thud marked by a subtle splash made him whirl around. The masked man had appeared, as though from above. His black shoes sloshed through the puddle he had landed in as he walked towards him, his eyes narrowing from behind his mask.

"Ah, good to see you again, Monsieur. The usual I-"

Erik glowered at the man as he wrapped his fingers around his throat. "I want the usual as well as what you owe me from last time, Felix. You cheated me."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he gasped as he struggled to free himself.

Erik tightened his grip and held up an empty bottle that he had removed from his pocket. "This was only half full when you gave it to me. Do you think it wise to steal from me?"

Felix's eyes darted to the bottle and he paled. He had hoped Erik wouldn't notice, as he was in the throes of a high the last time they did business. He must have sobered up enough to realize the truth before he drank any.

"Answer me," Erik growled.

"I...I didn't mean to. Here. Take two this time. No charge for the second one." He fumbled in his pocket and produced two glass bottles, both filled with a clear liquid.

Erik studied them carefully before snatching them up and tucking them into his pocket. "I'll take _both_ for free. And perhaps then I'll forget your dishonesty." He tightened his hand once more and then released the man.

Felix fell back against the building and gave a violent cough as he fought to regain his breath. Erik turned to leave, but the sound of a knife being drawn caught his ears. He turned just as Felix moved to stab him in the back. Erik caught his arm and gave it a harsh twist. Felix cried out as his wrist snapped and the knife clattered to the cobblestones.

"That was a foolish thing to do, Monsieur," he snarled.

The rope was in his other hand and he quickly looped it around Felix's neck. With a kick to his stomach, he shoved Felix away and tightened the noose as he fell to his knees. Erik wound the rope around his hands and gave it a violent jerk upwards. Felix sputtered and thrashed as it strangled him. He tried kicking back at Erik, but the lack of breath weakened his movements. Erik dodged the blows and gave the rope another jerk. Felix went limp, his arms dangling at his sides.

_I'll have to find another one now_, Erik thought bitterly.

He removed the rope and pushed Felix's corpse into the shadows. After a moment, Erik glanced around to see if anyone was nearby. The street was abandoned save for him and the dead man at his feet. In a rush of movement, he kneeled next to Felix and proceeded to check every one of his pockets. His search rewarded him with six more full bottles and a small pouch of coins. The money amounted to over two hundred francs. Erik smiled and tucked everything into his own pockets. Footsteps arose from around the corner and sent him into a frantic scramble up the nearest building's edifice. Just as a police officer appeared, Erik pulled his legs out of view and didn't look back as he leapt to the neighboring rooftop.

By the time he reached the Opera, a thick trail of sweat had stained the back of his shirt. It wasn't that warm out; it was from his blood crying out for the drug in his pocket. The silence of the Opera gave him some comfort, and he moved through the hidden passageways with catlike ease. Soon he threw a trap door open and emerged into Box Five. The only light in the entire theatre originated from the ghost lamp onstage. The shadows enveloped him as he claimed a seat in his box. The noose hung heavily at his waist, its threads no doubt stained with sweat, dirt, and maybe a bit of blood.

Erik ignored everything around him though as he reached for one of the bottles in his pocket. The moment he uncorked it, the sweet smell of the laudanum made him shiver. He removed his fedora and set it on the chair next to him. Beads of sweat dripped down his temples and along the edge of his mask. Another shudder raced up his back when he lifted the bottle to his tongue and pressed three drops against it. The high took hold of his senses within seconds. Every muscle in his body relaxed and he had to catch the bottle before it rolled from his hand. Licking his lips, he corked it again and tucked it away. An elongated sigh rushed from his lungs as he laid back in the chair and allowed his eyes to close.

_At last. _

It had been nearly a full day since his last dose. The shaking in his hands had become almost unbearable, but it was nothing compared to the agony in his back and head. Throwing his fears to the wind, Erik tugged his mask and wig both away. The feeling of the cool air against the deep scar on his scalp almost made him moan. He drew a finger along the ridge of it and sank lower into his chair. The dull throb had nearly vanished thanks to the drug. Flickers of old memories rushed through his mind. His mother shoving a mask onto his face, a dancing gypsy girl, disjointed music played on strange flutes, a laughing madman. Each twisted his face and served to feed his deep-seated rage at the world.

A distant giggle throttled him from the light doze. Erik replaced his wig, mask, and fedora in a hurry and moved to stand in the shadows of Box Five. As he tucked the bottle into his pocket, he peered around the curtain to see three small ballerinas appear onstage. They were glancing around with slight fear despite their muted laughter. It was far beyond their curfew time, and Erik knew the ballet mistress would have their heads should she catch them. Nevertheless, they moved across the stage all while whispering and pointing to the rafters.

"That's where he lives, I've seen him!"

"No you haven't, Meg! You're just trying to scare her!"

"I am _not_! I saw him up there during rehearsal. He was watching us. And the look in his eyes..."

Erik stifled a chuckle as Meg recounted her spotting of him. He remembered that day. It was late in the afternoon and the laudanum in his veins had made him careless. A misstep on the rafters sent a sharp sound across the stage and made everyone startle. Somehow, only Meg had spied him. Before Erik vanished into the shadows, he gave her a dark look that chilled her blood. And now she was eagerly describing the Opera Ghost as having "the red eyes of a demon." He chuckled again and scaled the side of the box, making his way towards the rafters to get a closer look.

Erik recognized the girl who had accosted Meg-her name was Jacqueline. But the third girl must have been new to the Opera. From the expression on her face, she hung onto every word Meg said about the feared ghost. With each detail, her cheeks paled more and more.

"Does he..._hurt_ people?" she asked in a small voice.

Meg shook her head and clasped her hand. "No, never. At least not that I've seen. He just scares people when they don't obey him. Or when they go into Box Five." She pointed at where Erik had just been sitting. The new girl followed her gesture and stared in awe at the dark seats.

"I won't. I don't want to make him mad. I mean, that's his home right? Or is this whole Opera his home?"

Erik leaned against the nearest rafter and took a sharp breath. This girl, so young and innocent, somehow found it in her heart to care about him. Even if he was a ghost in her eyes. He pressed a hand to his forehead and struggled to focus. The drug was making the room waver and blur.

"The whole place is his, I think," Meg answered.

"It can't be. What does a ghost want with an ugly old place like this?"

"Be quiet, Jacqueline. If you upset him, do it when Christine and I aren't near you!" Meg grabbed Christine's hand and pulled her away from the other girl, all while shooting nervous glances towards the rafters.

Erik moved back out of view and continued to watch in silence as Jacqueline stuck her tongue out at Meg and then rushed back to the dormitories. Meg ignored her and gave Christine a comforting smile.

"Don't worry, he won't hurt you. I'm the only one who's seen him, and he hasn't done anything to me. Just don't go near Box Five, like I said."

Christine nodded and looked up at the rafters with a nervous swallow. "Why is he here? What does he want?"

"What do you mean?" Meg gave her an incredulous look.

Erik leaned closer to hear. His hand, sweaty from the laudanum, slipped on the rope and he nearly lost his balance. At the last second he caught himself and readjusted to a more secure position between two wooden beams. He wound both hands around the rope and leaned forward.

"Doesn't every ghost want something? They don't haunt places like this for no reason."

Meg laughed and said, "You've been reading too many stories."

Even from far above, Erik could see the reddening in Christine's cheeks. She shrugged and turned away from Meg to hide her embarrassment.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make fun." Meg took her hand again and gave her a contrite look.

Christine didn't say anything.

"I don't know why the Opera Ghost is here. No one knows what he really wants. I've heard M. Reyer mention something about 'the ghost's salary.' And I know he only gets mad when people go near Box Five. And when Carlotta sings. I don't think he likes her voice very much."

Christine giggled and said, "Neither do I. She hurts my ears."

Erik bit down on his laughter.

"Come on, we better get back to bed before my mama catches us." Meg tugged on Christine's hand, but she stood firm.

"You go ahead, Meg. I want to look around a bit more. I won't be long."

"Okay, but hurry! Mama checks on us before she goes to bed, which is soon."

Christine nodded and watched Meg hurry offstage. She glanced around for a moment and then raised her eyes to the rafters again. Erik held his breath.

_Did she see me?_

As Christine turned to look behind her, Erik seized the opportunity to slide down the nearest rope and into the shadows of stage left. His feet hit the surface harder than he would have liked, and a reverberating echo shot through the space. He held his breath and backed against the nearest wall. Christine whirled to look in his direction, but she struggled to see anything across the dark stage. A bit of fear filled her eyes and she took a step back. After a long beat of silence though, she twisted her hands together and moved towards him.

"Hello?" she barely whispered. The simple act of voicing her suspicion made her flush with renewed embarrassment, and she shook her head in disbelief.

A thin trail of sweat made its way down Erik's back. The drug was wearing off and leaving him with the horrible after effects already. Desperate to avoid the symptoms just yet, he reached for the bottle of laudanum in his pocket. A violent tremor raced through his arm and sent the glass shattering to the stage. He bit down on a growl of frustration and looked over at the young girl. She was wide-eyed and her face had gone ashen.

"Who's there?" She took a tentative step forward. "Are you all right?"

Erik struggled to stay calm, to stop the worsening shaking of his hands. In his drug-filled haze, he all but forgot about the other bottles in his deeper pockets. Instead he gripped his hands together and gritted his teeth.

Christine took another step towards him. "Who are you?"

Erik's eyes darted to the ghost lamp between them. She would see him in a few short steps. There was nowhere to go. His self-preservation kicked in and triggered his anger. With a muted growl, he pressed himself against the wall and stared daggers at her.

"Stay away from me," he said in a low voice.

Christine froze and then took a small step backwards. "I'm sorry...I... I heard glass break. Why are you hiding?"

Erik steeled his nerves and took a step into the light. The bright lamp cast a sharp shadow behind him. He kept his head low to conceal his masked face beneath the fedora. His sudden appearance frightened Christine, of that much he was certain. She paled even more and gasped.

"Are...are you the _ghost_?"

Erik didn't move nor did he say a word. The shaking in his hands had traveled to his chest, which made taking a small breath rather difficult. Christine sized him up, her eyes finally fixating on the shadow beneath his fedora.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"I am."

Christine paled again and swallowed nervously. Erik couldn't believe his own blatant words. Never before had he willingly revealed himself to anyone, let alone a young dancer. There was no doubt in his mind that she would rush off to tell the other girls. But she didn't. She stayed.

"Are you all right?" she asked again.

At first, Erik wasn't sure what she meant. But as he took a small step away from her, the sound of glass crunching beneath his boot reminded him. The bottle. He glanced down at the shards and then looked back up at Christine before giving a slight nod.

Christine almost smiled and moved closer. Erik jumped at her movement and lifted a hand in warning.

"Stop." The word was breathless and laced with fear. His hand shook in midair.

Christine stopped and held up her hands. "Sorry. You are...him...aren't you?"

At first, Erik wanted to run. This was not a conversation he wanted to have. The risk was too great. Yet the look of concern in her eyes made him reconsider it. The amount of sweat staining his back had increased threefold. It sent a shiver up his spine.

"You don't look like a ghost..." She gave him a cautious look. "Should I be afraid of you?"

Erik turned his head so she could see just the edge of his mask. "Everyone else is."

Christine tilted her head to try and decipher exactly what she was seeing. Curiosity pushed her closer. In four short steps, she stood before him. Erik clenched his fists to ward off his fear. The need for concealment shoved him forward and around the young girl. With his back to the lamp, he morphed into a dark shape before her eyes, outlined in the abstract shapes of his cloak and hat. Christine gasped and searched for any recognizable feature within the shadow he had become.

"Please...d-don't hurt m-m-me," she stuttered. Her eyes glistened with the faint trace of forming tears. All curiosity had vanished from her eyes only to be replaced by a crippling fear.

Erik took a moment to truly study the girl, now that he was close enough to see her through his blurred vision. She still wore the same simple white outfit the ballerinas preferred for rehearsals. It hugged her small frame, yet maintained her modesty. Her long hair cascaded down her shoulders in thick curls. There was a softness in her face too, one Erik was not accustomed to seeing. She didn't look a day over sixteen years old, if that. Suddenly he realized she was shaking with fear and huddling against the wall.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said in a gentle voice.

Christine looked up at him again and bit her lip. She shifted her feet and stepped on the shards of the bottle. A startled gasp echoed from her chest as she took a quick step to the side. Bits of glass crunched beneath her ballet slippers. Her brow furrowed as the distinct sight of a wet stain on the wooden stage met her eyes.

"You dropped this? What was it? It smells horrible."

Erik's eye twitched at the mention of the drug. He idly reached into his pocket and felt the forgotten presence of the other bottles of laudanum. The simple feeling of them made his blood cry out for more.

"I know that smell. I remember it from when I was sick once. The doctor gave me some medicine. It made my head feel funny." Christine's face knitted as she looked at the floor again and then back up at the dark shape before her. "Are you sick, Monsieur?"

"No." He gripped one of the other bottles in his hand. Its surface became slick with sweat off his palm.

"Oh." Christine looked like she wanted to question him further, but her power of speech failed as he moved towards her.

"You still think me a ghost?"

Christine's heart pounded as he loomed over her. With a deep breath to steady herself, she slowly reached out with one hand. Erik clenched his jaw, but didn't move away this time. He released the bottle in his pocket and withdrew his hand to grip the length of his cloak. Christine pulled her hand back for a split second, but then firmly moved forward until her fingertips met the warm cloth of his shirt front. She shuddered at the feeling of his solid frame.

"You're...real," she breathed.

Erik reached up and covered her hand with his. The simple touch between them rekindled the sense of peace in his chest. The pain in his face faded once again, but he realized it was even better than the effects of the laudanum. Where the drug left his old wounds numb and with a dull throb, this young girl's simple touch completely eradicated every sensation that his scars were even there.

"You aren't the ghost," Christine said with a breath of relief. She flexed her hand beneath his and focused on the warmth she felt. Her brow furrowed again and she gave him a questioning look. "If you're not a ghost, then what are you?"

Erik's tongue turned wooden. Instead of a coherent sound all he could muster was a silent sigh. Without meaning to, he leaned against her hand and reveled in the first human contact he had been given in years.

Christine moved closer and laid her other hand on his shoulder. The soft fabric of his cloak met her fingertips. It was warm and gave her a sudden image of being wrapped in its folds in lieu of a blanket. His smell filled her nose. On the surface she detected the distinct odor of the drug mixed with perspiration, but with another breath she smelled the faint trace of sandalwood, roses, and the fresh night air. It made her shiver.

"Monsieur?" Her voice was low and guarded, but a trace of fear still lingered in the solitary word. Through squinted eyes, she looked more closely at the man before her. The darkness that concealed his face began to wane as her eyes adjusted. A hard curve of white on his cheek was the first thing she noticed. Just as before, it almost glowed. Confusion filled her though as she realized this white surface was absent from his left cheek. He squeezed her hand again and bent his head forward; the brim of his hat covered what little she had been able to see.

Erik took several slow breaths; the drug had nearly loosened its hold on him. Usually at this point he would become nauseous and unable to withstand being on his feet. This time though, he stayed steady and calm. Every time the urge to fold in on himself and succumb to the laudanum's after effects arose, he would instead give Christine's hand another squeeze.

"Who are you?" Her question was not demanding, only filled with rapt curiosity.

"I'm not a ghost," he finally said. Erik knew she would want a positive answer though, yet he wasn't sure exactly what to say. Before he could ponder it for long, Christine spoke up again.

"Are you... Are you an angel?"

Erik almost burst out laughing. Of all the things for someone to call him, _angel_ was never on the list. If anything, he looked the antithesis of an angel. And yet this young girl had enough faith to label the possibility of him being one of the heavenly host.

"Why would you think that?"

Christine shrugged and traced her hand along the collar of his cloak. "My papa told me about angels many times. He said they walk around like people, that they hide themselves among us so they can do God's work without being noticed. He said you have to look hard to find one, but it's easy to if you look with your heart." Christine turned her hand on his chest to take a hold of his hand. "I'm looking at you with my heart now, and that's what I see. An angel hiding in the shadows."

Erik's thoughts shifted to the rope hanging from his waist, the blood on it, and the lifeless body of Felix lying in a dark alley. He shook his head and bit his lip.

"No. I'm no angel."

"Do you have a name?" She seemed unfazed by his denial, rather squeezing his hand again.

"Yes," he barely whispered. "Erik."

A full smile broke across her face at the sound of his name. "Erik," she repeated. "I'm Christine."

Erik nodded, his heart soaring at the way his name sounded on her lips. A tremor rushed through his limbs though, which caused him to grit his teeth and tighten his grip on her hand. Christine's smile faded as she moved to steady him with one arm around his side.

"What's wrong? How can I help?"

The withdrawal was already curling its tendrils around Erik's body. He tried to remember how long it had been since his last dose. An hour? Three? It couldn't have been that long; it was dark when he paid a visit to Felix, and now the ballerinas were still awake. Perhaps his need for the drug was increasing; he would need many more bottles than the six in his pockets.

Another tremor shook his whole body and he stumbled forward into Christine's arms. Sweat poured down his bare cheek and matted the hair on the back of his neck. The nausea soon followed. With a dull groan, he bent in half and gripped his stomach.

"Erik, what's wrong? Please tell me what I can do," she begged with a slight panic in her voice. Christine secured both arms around his waist and urged him to lean on her.

At first Erik complied, but his senses took hold and forced him to shove away from her arms. He fell forwards and to one knee. With a hand pressed against his forehead, he groaned and attempted to shake off the fuzzy feeling in his brain. He looked up to see Christine staring at him, her hand still outstretched towards him. There was only one thing he could focus on though: the trap door behind her.

Christine laid one hand against the bare half of his forehead. "You're burning up."

Erik shoved her hand away. "Don't touch me!" He tried to rise, to stumble towards the trap door, but his legs buckled and he fell to both knees this time.

"All right, I won't touch you. But please let me help you. What can I do?" She held up her hands in surrender and offering.

"Nothing. I need... I need more..." The words were increasingly difficult to say; his tongue thickened and made him cough. He shoved his hand back into his pocket and grabbed another bottle of laudanum.

"What is that?" Christine's eyes widened as she caught sight of the glass in his hand.

Without a word, Erik uncorked the bottle and raised it to his lips. Christine cried out and shoved it from his hand. It fell from his trembling fingers with ease and shattered on the stage. The smell filled both their noses, making Christine cringe and Erik salivate. Anger replaced his yearning though and he launched towards her.

"Look at what you've done!" His hands gripped her shoulders as he pushed her against the wall. Darkness filled his eyes, his masked face hovering over hers. A low growl rumbled in his chest as the anger overflowed him.

Christine pushed at his chest and tried to scream, but her raw terror closed her throat. Her eyes widened with horror as Erik's right hand lowered to his waist. Her initial fear morphed into pure panic when the lasso came into view, its rope crusted with what looked like dried blood. Somehow she found her voice.

"Erik...please... Don't kill me!"

All he could see was red rage mixed with the shards of his laudanum bottle. Even though he had five more in his pocket, the thought of losing _any _drove him mad. The noose was around Christine's neck in an instant, his hand tightening its length.

Christine couldn't see through her tears, but she could make out the white curve on his right cheek. It looked ethereal in the light of the ghost lamp.

"_Angel!_ Please..."

The words were choked off by the rope, but Erik's hand froze. That word. It struck him in the heart and shattered his anger. He dropped the lasso and took a step back, his mouth agape.

Christine sank to the floor and coughed, her fingers sliding beneath the rope to tug it over her head. She looked up at him with pure terror, her hands shaking as she struggled to breathe. The lasso lay on the stage between them; Erik's eyes darted to it. He almost didn't believe what had occurred.

"No... I... What have I done?" He gripped the brim of his fedora and cried out through gritted teeth. "_I told you I wasn't an angel!_"

"No," Christine sputtered through a string of coughs. "Don't say that."

Erik moved towards the trap door near her, but Christine moved in the way. He snatched up the lasso and gripped it tightly, so she couldn't take it. Her eyes focused on it for a moment before lifting back up to search for his.

"Are you... Are you going to hurt me?" The words were laced with tears and shook with her bottom lip.

"Why did you do that?"

Christine looked down at the shattered glass and bit her lip. "That stuff... It's bad. It was making you sick. I didn't want you to get sicker."

Erik bent over and glared at her, eye to eye. "I _needed _that bottle. You had _no_ right to destroy it!" As the anger faded from his veins, the withdrawal reared its vicious head again to make his limbs shake. A fresh trail of sweat dripped down his bare cheek.

Without thinking, Christine reached out and wiped his cheek with her hand. He jumped, but didn't move away.

"Erik...that horrible drug is doing this to you. Don't...don't do this to yourself."

He collapsed to his knees and leaned on both fists, the rope still clenched in one hand. Violent tremors raced down his back and he gasped for breath. Christine climbed to her feet and wound her arms under his shoulders. With a great hoist, she helped him back to his feet.

"No, don't..."

"Come with me. You need to rest and I don't want Madame finding us here."

Erik reached for the shards of glass, but Christine pulled him away.

"Leave it. You'll cut yourself." She lifted Erik's arm over her shoulder and wrapped her hand around his waist. "Lean on me, it isn't far."

"I...I almost killed you," he sputtered as a jolt of pain gripped his head.

Christine didn't say anything, rather tightening her arms around him as she led the way down the hallway. She stopped outside an unmarked door and pushed it open. Erik recognized it immediately; it was an old dressing room everyone assumed to be haunted. Of course it wasn't; it harbored one of his many trap doors, this one of greater use due to its camouflage in the form of a floor-length mirror.

"Sit down and don't move."

Erik collapsed on the small settee and gripped his knees. Christine closed and latched the door before turning back to face him. He was shaking even more violently. It didn't even catch his attention when she lifted away his fedora, but he caught her by the wrist as she reached for the ties on his cloak.

"Don't."

"Erik, you're burning up and this cloak isn't helping. Please, just sit still." She didn't wait for him to respond. In one quick motion the cloak fell from his shoulders and onto the back of the settee. Christine drew one hand up his back and gasped. The entirety of his suit coat was soaked in sweat.

"This too."

Erik kept a firm grip on his shirt, but allowed her to pull the coat from his shoulders, drawing one arm from it at a time.

"Enough," he warned.

"You're not going to hurt me again, are you?" Her voice was mixed with fear and a hint of defiance.

Erik looked up at her and trembled. "No, but... No more."

"All right. Let me move these out of the way so they can dry a little." As she picked up the cloak and coat though, a tinkling sound of glass made her freeze.

"You have _more?_"

He didn't hear her though. The tremors had wrapped around his mind and darkened his vision as well as his ears. Christine reached into the deep pocket of his cloak and found the five bottles of laudanum. She immediately dropped the cloak and went to the small adjoining bathroom, where she systematically dumped out every drop of the drug. By the time she returned with a glass of water, Erik had curled up in the settee and was muttering incoherently.

"Erik? Can you hear me?"

He twitched at her voice, but didn't open his eyes.

Christine took his hand and pressed a kiss against his forehead. "Your fever feels a little better. Here, drink this."

Erik's hand shot out in search of a glass bottle. When his fingers wrapped around the actual glass though, he frowned and pulled away.

"It's only water. You need to drink it."

He shook his head and fumbled at his pockets, his face drawing down in a grimace when he failed to find the laudanum bottles.

"_Erik._ I will force you to drink this."

Christine pushed the glass against his lips and angled it up. At first he sputtered and fought, but when the water finally met his tongue he took a long drink. The drug always left him with severe cottonmouth, and the cold water felt wonderful. Christine fetched him a second glass full and urged him to take slow sips. Only when he sat up and shoved the glass away did Christine relent and set it aside.

"Thank you," he muttered through his thickened tongue.

"How do you feel?"

Erik pulled his face from his hand and looked up at her. "Horrible."

Christine took a chance and reached forward to brush the hair from his face. It was damp and matted, yet soft between her fingers. It made her smile a bit.

"What can I do?"

"I don't know..." He pulled away from her hand and clutched at his mask. "You took the other bottles."

Even though she knew it wasn't a question, Christine nodded. "I did. I couldn't watch you go through this again."

Erik gave her a cold look, which made her back up a step. "I killed someone for those."

Christine moved farther away and stared at him wide-eyed. "You..."

"I _told_ you I was no angel." The look in his eyes darkened tenfold as he stood to move towards her. He didn't stop until she was backed up against the wall. Unlike earlier though, he didn't hesitate to press against her.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she struggled to look at him. "Why..._why_ would you murder someone?!"

"I had to, or he would have killed me first."

"Erik..."

"_Stop calling me that._"

Christine cowered in terror and pressed her face into her hands. "Angel...don't hurt me..."

"Why do you insist I'm an angel? You know nothing," he growled in her ear.

Christine shoved at his chest and cried out, but he didn't budge.

"You need to atone for what you've done, for stealing from me."

A horrified cry burst from Christine's chest and she lifted her reddened eyes to stare at him. "Are you going to hit me too? Like my father?"

That made him not only stop but take two steps back. "No..." He looked down at his hands almost in disgust. "I'm not like him. I'm not like _her_," he added in a choked voice before falling to his knees before her.

"But you said-"

"I could never hurt you, Christine. I'm sorry..." Erik bent his head forward and reached for her. With slow motions, he kissed the back of her hand. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

Christine pulled away and glared at him. "You _killed _someone, Erik! And you nearly killed _me_ not even an hour ago!" She shoved him backwards, causing him to land on the floor, his back hitting the settee's edge. "'Atone for what I've done?' What does that involve? You hitting me? _Raping me?_ Or were you just going to kill me too?"

Erik covered his head with both hands and tried not to shake. The drug still had its slimy tendrils around his body, but his head was slowly clearing up. As her words echoed in his head, he slowly looked up at her and truly saw her for the first time. Despite the fear and anger on her face, she _cared _for him. Not only had she helped him recover from the withdrawal, she had saved him from a potential overdose. Only once before had he been foolish enough to drink an entire bottle while still coming down from a high, and it nearly killed him. Erik slowly shook his head.

"I could never hurt you. I'm not the angel, Christine. You are."

Her face softened again and she moved to kneel before him. "What _were_ you going to do then?"

"I don't know... I was going to...make you find more laudanum for me. But... I don't want it anymore."

Christine slowly reached for his hands and squeezed them. "I would have refused."

Erik leaned over to kiss her hands again. "I owe you my life."

"No, don't say that."

"I already have." He moved to the settee again and took a slow breath to steady his shaking hands. When Christine moved to stand before him, he gripped her hands and said, "What can I do to repay you? Name it and I will do it."

Christine studied him and mulled over the question. As she pondered the situation, she pried one hand free and carefully traced the curve of his mask. Erik tensed but didn't move away.

"Why does a ghost wear a mask?"

Erik's hand shot up to cover hers, to hold it still against his covered cheek. "Don't..."

"You said to name anything."

"No. Not that."

"Erik..."

"You'll be even more terrified of me."

"What could be more frightening than your lasso around my neck?" Her voice was calm and without malice, and her fingers slowly caressed the smooth porcelain on his cheek.

"Please...don't." He was starting to shake again, his hand tightening around hers.

"What's wrong? You don't have to be afraid of me."

"If you care about me at all...don't ask for that."

Christine frowned and traced the edge of his hairline with her other hand. "Is this why you take that drug?"

Erik nodded and looked down at the floor. "My face always hurts."

"Does it hurt now?"

"Yes."

"May I try something?" She moved to sit next to him, her hand still on his mask.

He looked at her with a mixture of terror and trust, but slowly nodded.

"I'm going to close my eyes. Here, give me your hands." She lifted them towards her face and guided his thumbs to cover her closed lids. "I'm going to take this off now," she whispered with a light touch to his mask.

Erik started to shake again, but kept his thumbs gently secured over her eyes. "Why?"

The sound in his voice almost made Christine weep. It was the voice of a frightened child, one who expected nothing but pain and suffering. It reminded her of when she was young, when her father's temper would rise and his hand would start swinging. _Why, Papa? _She took a second to caress his smooth cheek and offered a reassuring smile.

"I'm only going to help you. Please trust me."

As before, her simple touch sent a wave of comfort through his entire body. He kept his eyes focused on her face as her fingers gently curled beneath the mask's edge to lift it away.

"Don't touch me," he pleaded.

Christine shook her head and set the mask on her lap. "I won't, not with my hand anyways."

"What do you-?"

Before he could finish his sentence, Christine leaned forward and pressed a feather light kiss against his scars. In that instant, two thick tears rolled down Erik's cheeks and he backed away from her. His hands remained on her face though, to ensure she kept her eyes firmly shut. She lifted the mask from her lap and clumsily slid it back over his face. Erik didn't move, he just stared at her.

"Erik?" Her face twisted with concern beneath his hands. "Are you all right? Can I open my eyes now?"

He drew his hands away and straightened his mask before breathing an almost silent assent. Christine slowly looked at him and smiled, her hand reaching out to brush the tears from his bare cheek.

"How does your face feel now?"

Erik took a slow breath and closed his eyes. It was strange. At first, when she kissed him, he only felt raw panic. But then, that ever-present agony in his scars had given a jolt only to slowly fade away. And now, there was nothing-no pain whatsoever. Another tear streamed down his cheek as he opened his eyes again.

"You kissed me."

Christine nodded and cupped his cheek.

"Why?"

"Did it help?"

Erik covered her hand with his and stifled a small cry. "Yes."

"Do you still want me to find more medicine for you?"

"No."

"You said I could ask you for anything..."

Erik nodded and kissed her palm. "I did."

"I want to sing."

His brow knitted at her request. "What do you mean? You want to learn how, or...?"

"I don't want to be a ballerina. I want to sing on the stage," she said with a distant smile. "I would always sing when I was a child. My papa said my voice was beautiful, but that I still needed the gift of music. He promised to send me the Angel of Music to help me. I've waited for three long years, but he hasn't arrived. Could you... Perhaps _you_ could be my Angel of Music?"

"You want to be a Prima Donna?" Erik smiled a bit and touched her cheek. "Much like our dear Carlotta?"

"No! Nothing like her. Please, Erik. Will you help me?"

He took her by the hands and guided her back to her feet. With another gentle touch to her cheek, he stepped away from her and held out his hands as though in beckoning. He nodded and smiled again.

"Sing for me."


End file.
